Maze
by amberpire
Summary: - but Luna is a labyrinth and Hermione has no sense of direction when it comes to her. ;Hermione/Luna; Rating may change.


**Maze;**

–noun

_1. a confusing network of intercommunicating paths or passages; labyrinth._

_2. any complex system or arrangement that causes bewilderment, confusion, or perplexity._

_3. a state of bewilderment or confusion._

_4. a winding movement, as in dancing._

* * *

><p>Hermione first hears of Loony Lovegood when she is a second year at Hogwarts, sitting with her Potions book by the fire. It should probably be noted that she is reading nearly three chapters ahead of where they are in class, but Hermione always enjoys being a few steps ahead. To her left is a cluster of boys in her year, playing Wizards Chest on the floor. The barbaric noises of destruction that filter up from their group makes Hermione raise her lip in disgust, flipping the dusty pages of her textbook and trying hard to focus. Usually she studied up in the dormitory, but all of the girls up there nearly drove her mad with all of their boy talk and gossip and their blatant disregard for education. The common room was the next best place to the library, but since Hogwarts had put in that blasted curfew, what with the whole hubbub of the Chamber of Secrets, none of the students were allowed to leave their houses after six.<p>

"She's completely mad, absolutely _bizarre_ in the worst of ways."

The speaker is Amos Drengar, a nasty boy Hermione had the displeasure of taking Transfirgurations with. He possessed a wide gap between his two front teeth and an upturned nose that reminded Hermione cruelly of a hog. It wasn't unusual for him of all boys to be talking mean about someone else, so Hermione simply snuggles further into her chair and tugs the book closer to her face, as if that would somehow block his words from entering her ears.

"It's no surprise she's a Ravenclaw. They're all damn near insane. She's totally bonkers. I saw her having a full on conver_sation _with the portraits one day, and she hangs out with the _ghosts_ more than she does living people. It's a waste of wizarding blood, if you ask me, to be stuck in a girl who is out of her mind."

Hermione's own blood feels thick and boiling under her skin. They didn't even know this girl and they were just praddling on about her like they had a right. The snapping of her large, ancient book creates a puff of dust as she slams it closed, sitting up in her chair and glaring hard at the boys on the other side of the room. Their chess game comes to a pause, regarding her like they would any other female on the planet; like she had no strength at all.

"Excuse me, but _who_ are you talking about? And _why_ do you think you have _any_ place at all to be talking so horribly about some poor girl you don't even know?"

Amos leans back on his palms, apparently unaffected by her snapping. He shrugs his beefy shoulders. "She's just a first year."

"You were just a first year _last year_, Amos."

The boy shrugs again, his nonchalance making Hermione's teeth grind together with squeaking pressure.

"Her name's Loony Lovegood, for your information, and she's batshit _crazy_. Go meet her and tell me I'm wrong."

Listening to gossip and boy talk was much preferable to this. Standing, Hermione glares daggers at the group of boys but holds her tongue - it certainly wasn't worth all of the energy it would take out of her to insult such scum. She's more than smart enough to conclude that 'Loony' was nothing but a mean nickname, but the last name struck a distant cord in Hermione's brain; she had that familiar sense that she had read the name before, though considering the amount of literature she managed to plow through every semester, that really isn't all that surprising. She tucks her Potions book under her arm and marches up the stone steps toward her dormitory, murmuring less than pleasant things under her breath. The witch shouldered her way into the girls' dorm, walking bristly past a group of girls gathered all on one bed, the smell of nail polish heavy in the air.

Near the corner of the room is Ginny Weasley, the redhead lying on her stomach with her quill scratching away at a piece of parchment beneath her. She looks up as Hermione approaches, dumping her Potions text on her neatly made bed before perching heavily on the edge of the mattress.

"What's wrong? Get an A minus?"

Hermione smiles briefly, arms crossing as the two girls exchange tongue-faces.

"Are you friends with any Ravenclaws?" Hermione shifts on her bed, back to the headboard, crossing her legs at the knee. "There were some boys downstairs talking rubbish about a poor girl."

"Luna Lovegood, right?"

The older witch blinks, turning to watch the other girl prop her chin in her palm and raise her blonde eyebrows.

"Who _is_ this Lovegood? Why does everyone know about her except me?"

Ginny smiles, and although it's friendly, it's riddled in surprise. "Honestly, Hermione? Your head is so often buried in books, it's a wonder you know the kids in your own _house_."

Hermione frowns; the Weasley is right. Other than Ginny, her brother, and Harry, Hermione didn't really engage in much socializing. She wasn't one of those girls with lots of acquaintances; she had a few close friends and she liked it that way. Being close-knit made her feel safe. Still, for being so infamous for her alleged expert ability to observe, she was certainly lacking when it came to things like other students.

"Luna Lovegood is a nice girl. A weird one, but nice. People make fun of her all the time, but she's strangely cool about it." Ginny turns back to her parchment. "She doesn't have many friends."

"Lovegood ..." Again there was the pluck of familiarity. She knew that name. Hermione's eyes close as she mentally flips through the volumes she's read over the years, searching for the source of that poetic name. Like a spark, the girl jumps, eyes flying open to zero in on Ginny. "_The Quibbler_!"

"Pardon?"

"_The Quibbler._ Xenophilius Lovegood is the editor of that magazine! You know, the one that writes about all those odd theories and creatures. I've only read a couple dozen issues in my spare time -" (This earned quite the eye roll from Ginny) "- but I _knew_ I had heard that name before! D'you think they're related?"

Ginny shrugs. "Why don't you ask her?"

Hermione frowns, settling on her bed again. "She's a first year Ravenclaw and I have no classes with her."

"You _could_ find her if the curfew wasn't keeping us in all the time. She's almost always hanging out with the ghosts. Besides, I'm a first year, I could help you meet her if you really want." Ginny frowns then, the feather of her quill brushing along her chin as she turns to examine Hermione with a lifted eyebrow. "Why are you suddenly so curious?"

Hermione opens her mouth only to close it again. To be honest, she isn't sure. She likes to think that any decent human being would feel sorry for a girl that gets made fun of behind her back and doesn't appear to have any friends. But there's also the undeniable fact that Hermione _was_ that girl, too, before she received her letter to Hogwarts - before Ginny and Harry and Ron, Hermione was just the bookworm, the weird girl who studied and did well in school and preferred to learn as much as possible than play.

She gives a shrug. What with all of this Chamber of Secrets business, there really was no time to be making new friends anyway. The Polyjuice Potion still wasn't done, she had homework to do, and about a dozen other things to worry about ... if Luna Lovegood had survived this long, then she'd probably make it along fine.

Hermione changes into her night clothes and curls up with her Potions book once again. She had more important things to worry about, like getting ahead in Snape's class and earning the Gryffindor house some much needed points, since the girls on the other side of the room were _still_ talking about boys and gossip and painting their nails.

/

Hermione really, really hates disobeying the rules. One would think otherwise considering how often she breaks them, but really, she is generally all for authority and adhering to the law and all that. She's a good student. She picks up after herself, she doesn't use magic outside of school, she doesn't cheat on her homework, and she actually studies for her exams.

But good students certainly do _not_ steal from their professors.

Hermione swallows the guilt that's built in her throat like sludge, shifting the carefully hidden bottle of Boomslang sheddings beneath her robe. It had been fairly easy sneaking into Professor Snape's store room; the wizard didn't bother enchanting it, so a simple _Alohomora _got past that pretty quickly. It had been absolutely terrifying, but who would ever suspect the bookworm Hermione Granger of something as ghastly as stealing? Sure, Professor Snape didn't like her too much, but that was hardly personal - he didn't like anyone. Besides, if he even noticed that the Boomslang was missing, he would probably think it was Harry. To Snape, everything was somehow Harry's fault.

The halls echo Hermione's quick footfalls to the bathroom, where their cauldron with the other ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion is hidden away. She's never seen anyone on this side of the building before, let alone in that particular bathroom; she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to put up with Myrtle for more than a few minutes. The ghost girl didn't bother Hermione too much because she insisted that the Gryffindor was 'too boring' to talk to. Hermione was just fine with that, thank you very much.

With Harry at Quidditch practice and Ron in detention (again), Hermione makes her way alone to the bathroom, slipping into the abandoned, dusty room with a sigh of relief. Finally, she withdraws the Boomslang sheddings from her robe, lifting the glass bottle to her eyes. The brown and green dried skin looks much like pieces of leaves. Hermione is certain she got more than enough for the potion and, smiling broadly, she makes her way to the fourth stall on the left, where their cauldron lies hidden behind a few stones beside the loo.

She's just about to remove the cauldron when she hears a voice bounce off the walls beyond her, a soft, dreamy tone that whispers, "Myrtle?"

For a moment, Hermione is convinced it's Myrtle herself, trying to scare her with her pathetic ghost tricks, but then there are solid footsteps swishing across the floor and Hermione jumps, shoving the glass bottle of Boomslang into the crevice in the wall before shoving the stone shut again. She jumps on the toilet seat, biting her lip hard as she listens to the person walk slowly past her, knees shaking. What in the devil was she doing here? No one came to this bathroom, she was sure of it!

"Myrtle, are we playing hide and seek again?"

A giggle much too close for comfort makes Hermione's body lock up. That tone she positively knows belongs to Moaning Myrtle, and by the sound of it, she's in the next stall over. Hermione ducks, mentally cursing as the living student wanders back toward where the Gryffindor hides. She watches a pair of - are those slippers? Hermione narrows her eyes. They _are_ slippers. Blue and fluffy, sliding across the bathroom floor. They pause outside Hermione's door, the girl holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut - this is it. They're caught. They're caught by some wandering student who should be back in their house where they belong.

Hermione decides to ignore the irony of that thought, nearly giving a squeal when a stall door slams open; but it's not her's. The girl nearly sinks in relief as giggles explode to her right, one airy and far off, the other soft and dreamlike.

"How are you, Myrtle? I'm sorry I haven't come to see you in a couple of days. Everyone's very frightened about this curious Chamber of Secrets business."

Myrtle laughs again, and from under the door, Hermione can see the ghost's gray bottom half swishing past. The blue slippers follow.

"Oh, don't worry! I'm glad you come at all! So very few people bother to see poor little Moaning Myrtle, all wrapped up in her pitiful death in the bathroom, brooding away ... Except the Gryffindors."

"Oh?"

Hermione panics, almost slipping off the toilet seat. Her arms and legs are straining from the awkward position, making it difficult to remain still.

"Yep. Three of them are in here pretty often, actually, making some kind of stew ... one of them is here now, as a matter of fact."

She knew Myrtle wouldn't let her hide. Hermione slumps forward, her aching muscles burning. She gives a brief scream when she looks up, staggering to fall flat atop the toilet when she sees Mrytle's blue-tinged, transparent face protruding through the stall door. The ghost laughs manically, tugging at her pigtails as she drifts toward the ceiling.

It's then that the door squeaks open, calmly, and from the other side emerges a girl in black robes with the silver-edged crest of the Ravenclaw house sewn on her breast. She's short and small, almost frail looking, with snowy blonde hair that twists down to her elbows. She gazes across at Hermione with cerulean eyes dotted in the center, wide and curious, and somehow knowledgeable.

Hermione realizes with a start that, for one thing, she's staring, and another, her legs are sprawled open in a most unsightly manner and she's in a skirt for goodness' sake. Quickly straightening herself, Hermione jerks herself to a stand and busies herself for a few moments with rearranging her robes, making them prim and straight before she dares to meet the other student's eyes again. The mysterious girl's expression hasn't changed; it remains almost ... whimsical, as if she is permanently in a state of daydreaming.

"Uhm." Hermione thinks for a moment, wondering why the girl hasn't prodded her with questions about what she's doing here yet, like she's certain any other student would. Finally, she thrusts her hand out, managing to slap on a golden, teacher-pet smile. "I'm Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The blonde lowers her eyes to Hermione's hand as if she's never seen one before. Hermione frowns a little, taking the tiniest step forward as if trying to encourage the girl to take her hand. It almost feels like she's in the presence of a small animal, trying to usher it for a nice pet.

Finally, after such a span of silence that it makes Hermione nearly explode with the awkward, the girl's hand extends slowly, slender fingers wrapping around Hermione's. The digits are cool and abnormally soft, and the handshake endures no shaking at all; just a simple, firm squeeze.

"I'm Luna Lovegood."

Hermione's eyes widen, yanking the girl forward in a rush. "Lovegood! I've heard of you! Are you related to the editor of _The Quibbler_? Ever since I heard of you, I've been wondering!"

Hermione desperately hopes that her overreaction is being bought; maybe if she convinced the girl she was in love with her relative's magazine, she wouldn't ask questions about her being in the bathroom? Or the 'stew' Myrtle mentioned? And, hopefully, not breathe a word of it to anyone else.

A ghostly smile swims up her face. "He's my father, yes, but you don't have to distract me with forced interest."

The smile on Hermione's face snaps away. "What?"

Luna's hand slips from hers, dangling at her side. She spins on the heel of her fluffy slippers. "I think it's great that you're spending some time with Myrtle. She's a really nice girl and gets very few visitors. Isn't that right, Myrtle?"

The ghost laughs from her perch in the window, grinning down at the two. Hermione does her best not to scowl at the ghost before returning her attention to the Ravenclaw. "So ... you're not going to say anything to anyone, right?"

Her shoulders rise and fall. "I don't see why I should. Gryffindors are brave and courageous, right? So I'm sure whatever you're doing can't be bad. You don't give off ill vibes."

Hermione can't stop herself. "Ill vibes?"

"You know, like auras. Some people have sick auras - ill, under the weather ones. But yours feels nice and healthy."

She thinks that's a compliment, so she murmurs a soft, reluctant 'thanks' to the girl as she steps out of the stall. Attending to the Polyjuice Potion would have to wait until later. She couldn't rightly do it with another student in the vicinity. She was also plagued with what Amos had said earlier in the month, about this girl being off her rocker. Hermione studies her profile for a moment, the girl's face upturned and facing Myrtle. Luna's eyes are far off and her smile is loose, like it's about to fall off, but clinging at the weakest of strings. Hermione finds herself longingly curious of her, which isn't an unusual feeling; Hermione is a naturally curious girl. It's partly why she does so well in school. She wants to know things, understand them, and at the moment this first year is the most interesting thing she's seen in a long time. Hermione likes challenges, things she doesn't understand right away, mysteries that she has to discover. A lot of that was due to her adventures last year with the Sorcerer's Stone, and helping Harry uncover all of the answers surrounding that particular catastrophe. Since, Hermione's felt this longing in her chest to learn everything, as much as possible, to the best of her ability, because there's few things she hates more than being left in the dark.

And Luna, even while she stands bathed in the late afternoon sun filtering through the bathroom window, she's shrouded in shadows, and Hermione wants to just ... know.

Hermione stops, both in her footsteps and her thoughts. She doesn't have time for this. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened and she definitely, absolutely does _not_ have time to make friends with a very strange girl. Chewing her lip, Hermione looks to the blonde once more, already engrossed in a conversation with Myrtle.

That's one mystery that's going to have to remain unsolved. For now.

Hermione ducks out of the bathroom without another word.

/

She has a bloody _tail_ and it's _flicking_.

Readjusting on the tip of the toilet seat, Hermione attempts to cradle her face in her hands only to yank it back. She's covered in fur. It's literally everywhere, and, God, she has _whiskers_. The tail gives an indignant twitch above her head and, flustered, she twists and grabs it, yanking it into her lap.

How could she possibly be so stupid? She should have known it was a cat's hair. If she had, then she would be out with the boys getting the desperate information that they need and not be stuck in the bathroom like a helpless damsel. This is just what Ron needs to boost his ego, a reason to make fun of her for life. He probably thinks she chickened out, and Hermione isn't sure what's worse; him considering her a coward or her being careless. Hermione Granger is not careless. Even when she's breaking the rules, she's smart about it. She doesn't make stupid mistakes like taking a piece of cat hair off of a robe instead of a human one.

Tears are searing under her eyes. She reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, only to fling it back upon the discovery of fur. Again. On top of her stupidity, she had to go and be weak as well. Marvelous. Her day could not possibly get any better.

"Meow?"

Hermione stiffens. This is exactly what she needed; taunting from a dead girl. Biting her tongue, Hermione crosses her arms tightly over her chest and pulls her feet close together, trying to push herself out of her self pity long enough to focus on the plan at hand. She had little to zero confidence in Ron being able to handle something like this - Harry, maybe, but it still made her anxious knowing the two were handling it by themselves. They had a tendency to get in trouble. If she were there, she would make absolute sure that everything went according to plan.

Except she turned herself into a cat, and that complicates things.

"What's the matter?" Myrtle's hollow, distant laughter rings on the bathroom's domed ceiling. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Myrtle. I am not in the mood."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is the kitty going to hiss at me?"

Strangely, the desire to do so conjured itself in the back of Hermione's throat, but, thankfully, she manages to swallow it down. Tucking her chin against her chest, the girl heaves a sigh. She blinks down at the hands still gripped around her tail only to discover they're not hands at all - they're paws. And there are claws in them.

Throwing her arms out, Hermione stifles another sob. Only an idiot would mess something like this up. She spent weeks slaving over that potion and she ends up like this? One pinch of catnip away from using the Forbidden Forest as a litter box.

Myrtle carries on, making as many feline-related jokes as she can - "I wish I was you because you've got _nine lives_!" - and so on, only to halt mid-sentence. The silence makes Hermione lift her head questioningly, the thump of her heart causing adrenaline to burst through her veins. God forbid a professor walk in here and see her like this. Hermione's brain kicks into high gear, trying to piece together a feasible enough lie to tell whoever was on the other side, because there was no way Ron and Harry were back yet. But what? How could she possibly convince even the dimmest person how she managed to turn herself into Catwoman?

"Luna, you're sleep walking again!"

Oh no. Oh _no_.

There's a soft yawn beyond the door, then a soft giggle. "Good thing I went to bed with my shoes on."

"You've got to see this, Luna. There is a stray kitty in my bathroom!"

Oh, Hermione thinks, curling her hands into fists. That girl is lucky she's already dead, she thinks bitterly, before yanking open the stall door. She would not be scared again by Myrtle, and she wasn't about to hide in the toilet like some - she nearly thought scaredy-cat, but caught herself.

"Hello, Luna." Hermione lifts her chin up. The tail flickers above her head. Luna is in a long, white gown that nearly swallows her booted feet. The moon tilting in from the window above them makes the girl seem almost as ghostly as Myrtle, her snowy hair fluorescent under the glow. Her face doesn't look surprised but Hermione is a bit too angry at the floating, snickering blue girl hovering over Luna's shoulder to notice. "And before you inform me, I am already fully aware of the fact that I am covered in fur."

Luna gives a slow blink. "You look more like an otter person to me."

Hermione's eyes narrow. "What?"

"I thought you would like otters more than cats."

Tugging her lips down, the older girl shakes her head, flattening her hands - paws - out in front of her. "Look, Luna, I need - I think you should go back to your dorm, okay? It's late and you could get in trouble."

"So could you."

Luna's tone isn't exactly challenging, just matter-of-fact. Hermione meets the other girl's eyes and takes a deep breath. How much time has gone by? What were Harry and Ron up to? Had they messed it up? Were they caught somewhere? Was everything they had worked so hard for going down the drain? Taking a deep breath, she tries to still her thoughts, or at least slow them down, but the speeding wheel that is her mind refuses to let her. "I know," she says. "But I can't. Not now. I have to stay here and wait for ... I just can't leave yet."

Luna, apparently unaffected, gives a slight shrug of her shoulders and takes a step backward. "You were crying."

"I-" Hermione's face twists. "I most certainly was not."

"Yes you were. Just because you're a cat doesn't mean I can't tell."

Hermione snaps her mouth shut for a moment, her teeth grinding together. "Luna-"

"Are you embarrassed?" Luna blinks slowly, her face impossibly sober despite Hermione's obvious growing frustration with the Ravenclaw. "I doubt you meant to turn into a cat, which means you must have messed something up, but you're not used to messing up, are you?"

"I didn't -" Hermione's breath rattles out of her, the girl spinning around and marching back into her stall. She perches on the edge of the toilet and crosses her arms, head buried. "Just go away, Luna."

For a few moments, Hermione believes the girl has done just that, lifting her head when the silence stretches between them, only to find that Luna has moved closer, standing in the threshold of the stall. Her blue eyes look much darker in the dim light of the bathroom, a kind of deep, oceanic quality to them. Hermione blinks up at her, the blasted tail attached to her spine curling above her head like a question mark.

"What?"

"It's okay to mess up." Luna smiles, turning so her back is braced against the stall. Her nightgown billows cloud-like around the tops of her shoes. "Mistakes are disguised lessons, you know."

If Hermione had eyebrows, they would be dragged dramatically over her nose. "And what could you know about that?"

Luna's smile broadens, her eyes shifting dreamily from Hermione to the arched ceiling. "My mother died because she made a mistake."

The words crack against Hermione so hard she flinches back, like there was a spell behind them. She blinks several times and then replays the last sentence Luna spoke aloud - what? "What?"

Luna's smile doesn't waver. It clings to her like it was sewn there. "My mother died because she made a mistake." she repeats, her gaze finally moving to settle on the dark-haired girl once more. "Mother was experimenting with spells and she messed up. I was nine. You should be careful, Hermione. I know you're a bright girl, but so was my mum."

Hermione's throat feels choked. She stares at the backs of her furry paws again, wiggling the digits that had once been fingers. Goodness, it was no wonder this girl acted so strangely. She lost her mother. Hermione couldn't even imagine the kind of pain one had to endure when losing a parent. She always felt bad for Harry for being an orphan, but he was just a baby then - he didn't remember his parents. Luna had grown with her mother the same way Hermione had, the same way children were supposed to, and she was gone now. Hermione looks at the girl, watching the blonde hum and sway in the stall doorway.

"I'm sorry, Luna."

Luna smiles again. And it's not eerie or lost or forced, it's just natural and kind of whimsical, like she knows the punchline to a fabulous joke. "S'no one's fault but her own. She knows that. The Warglebugs told me so."

Hermione can't help herself. "Warglebugs?"

Luna nods. "Creatures that can send messages from the dead to the living. I thought you said you read _The Quibbler_."

"Just a couple of times." Hermione absently strokes one whisker before frowning, ducking her head. She can feel the tips of her triangular ears pressing down. One would think Hermione would be the type of person to carry a watch, but Ron already made enough fun of her because of other Muggle-like things she owned (her music box, for one, which she thought to be quite adorable). For all she knew, the boys could be rushing back at any minute. Nervously biting the inside of her lip, Hermione looks up, lips parted to speak, but Luna isn't there. Frowning, Hermione stands, taking a step out of the stall and looking to her right. "Luna?"

"Hermione?"

The voice is so close it makes Hermione jump, spinning around. The first year is just a few inches to her left, and though Hermione is a tad taller, she finds her eyes on the same level as Luna's. Up close, they're even more ocean-like, deep and swirling, and if Hermione wasn't convinced it was just a trick of the shadows, she might have believed that there was a spell making them so enchanting. Instinctively, the Gryffindor slides her foot backward, but Luna lifts a hand that makes her halt.

"You want me to leave because you're waiting for something. That's okay. I need to go back to bed anyway."

"Be careful." The words crush out of Hermione before she even thinks about it, blinking in surprise. "I mean, you know - I don't, I don't want anything happening to you. Strange things are going on, you know, what with Mrs. Norris and all."

"That creature only goes after half-bloods and Muggle borns." The words aren't condescending, just informational, and Hermione realizes that Luna is a smart girl, underneath the daydream. "It's you who should be careful, Hermione Granger."

The girl seems to float away. Hermione can't find her tongue, let alone get it to form anything coherent. Luna waves sleepily to Myrtle before gliding out of the bathroom, the darkness of the halls swallowing her. Hermione frowns, arms slowly crossing with her back against the stall. Luna was right. Hermione's Muggle-born; if anything, she's the one who shouldn't be wandering around the school, because she wasn't 'pure'.

Another frown drips on Hermione's lips. She sighs, a hand brushing along the fur attached to her chin. It's then she hears the panicked, rushing thuds of footsteps heading toward her, and in a flurry, the brunette swings back into the bathroom stall and shuts the door. Myrtle starts laughing again, the eerie cackling filling the room.

The tears in her eyes aren't from embarrassment. They're from fear.

Because Luna's right. Hermione finally finds a place to call home, and something dangerous doesn't want her here.

/

For a few paralyzing moments, she can't even remember her own name. The ceiling swims into view, eyelids moving for the first time in weeks. The first thing she notices is her outstretched hand. Crawling up her arm is what looks like a faint mist, a cloud of smoke, and the farther it travels, the more she starts to feel. First her elbow, then her forearm, her wrist, and finally her fingers, instinctively flexing out before curling in again. She can feel her bones giving a tired groan as the joint of her shoulder allows her arm to finally fall slowly to her side. Suddenly, she's awake. Like magic.

_Oh._

A loud gasp shudders out of her, her previously frozen body unlocking to sit straight up in the bed. Her fingers clench the sheets, panicked breaths bursting through her lips as she searches wildly for the last thing she remembers - the library. The mirror. The book. The spiders. The basilisk. She had to tell Harry and Ron, it was important and -

"You're awake."

Hermione jumps. _Hermione_, she thinks with a mental sigh of relief - that's her name. Hermione Granger. And this is Hogwarts and she's a witch and Gryffindor Harry Ron the basilisk the Chamber of Secrets -

"Hermione, breathe."

A long, hard breath rips to her lungs. It feels like her lungs have been compressed by heavy blocks, her hands hovering beneath her collarbones and pressing on them, frowning. She feels stiff all over, body creaking and groaning like the hinges of an old door. Finally, drowsily, her eyes drift toward the source of the voice to her left, all of these words still running through her mind, words with meaning, like exams and Hagrid and Azkaban and the heir of Syltherin and -

_Luna_.

It makes her thoughts halt completely. She's in her Ravenclaw robes, a copy of _The Quibbler_ resting delicately in the dip between her legs. Her knees are cocked inward, those same blue slippers wiggling with the unseen movement of her toes. The sun is hitting her from the back, lighting her up around the edges, all blondes and blues and blacks. Hermione stares at her without saying a word, without breathing, and the stone walls look so familiar and she can see a woman fluttering about a few other beds beyond the pair and -

"Oh." Hermione takes a deep breath. She looks down at her legs, watching as they swing over the side. Her muscles are slowly unlocking. "I was Petrified. I was stupid and careless and got myself _Petrified_."

"Hermione, dear!" Madame Pomfrey, fluffy and soft, flutters to the girl's side, taking her face in both hands. "How are you feeling? Better?"

"Where's Harry and Ron? What happened of the basilisk? Did anyone else get hurt -"

"You are going to talk yourself dead if you don't take a moment to breathe, Ms. Granger. Everything is fine. Those two lovely Gryffindors are doing fine, and the Weasley girl is as well-"

"Ginny? What happened to Gin-"

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it when you get back to the banquet. It should be starting here pretty soon."

"How long have I been Petrified? What about exams? What about all of the homework I missed? How am I possibly -"

"Hermione."

There's a hand on her shoulder. She spins, lips parted, and Luna is so close, she can feel the Ravenclaw's soft breath on her chin. Blinking hard, she hears Madame Pomfrey scuttling away, clicking her tongue at Hermione's apparent blabbering. It's far off, though, because Luna's eyes have sufficiently captured hers, locked them airtight.

"Your mind moves far too quickly, you know that?" Luna smiles, sitting beside Hermione on the edge of her bed. A slow breath slips from Hermione's lips, feeling her rigid shoulders relax, albeit reluctantly. A hand rubs at her forehead, the other twisting into a fist atop her knees.

"I just can't believe I did that. That was so foolish of me."

"Are all Gryffindors as stubborn as you are?" Her smile is still dreamy, the same it's always been. Hermione looks at her, frowning, about to speak before Luna lifts a slender hand. "Mistakes are okay, Hermione."

"No, they're not." Hermione gushes, giving a firm shake of her head. "They're stupid and sometimes they're irreparable and what if I had gone and gotten myself killed or something or -" Her teeth click shut. She spins toward Luna, grabbing her elbow with both hands. "Luna, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to -"

Luna shakes her head, her smile reassuring, her touch gentle. The hand connected to the arm Hermione is grasping settles on Hermione's knee, kind, patient.

"Slow down, Hermione." Luna's eyebrows perk at the other girl, like it's Hermione who is the weird one, the outcast, and not the Ravenclaw who stands friendless at her side. Frowning, Hermione meets her eyes, those swirling depths of blue, and behind that film of haziness, that swinging curtain of daydreams, there is a kind of solidness, rocks beneath the rippling water.

"How long have you been here?" Hermione glances at the hand still balanced on her knee, watching as it slowly withdraws. For a moment, Hermione almost wishes Luna would put it back, if just for the comfort of contact.

"I came to sit with you a little bit every day. I thought you might be lonely in there. I read to you a little bit." Luna smiles, her hands splaying behind her on the mattress, head back. Her white-blonde hair tumbles all the way down her spine, and Hermione watches her eyes dart about the ceiling, like she's drawing things with her eyes. "Do you remember any of the stories I read to you?"

Hermione blinks slowly. She can picture it, Luna perched in the chair beside her bed, with a book balanced on her knees, whispering soft fairytales to her in this lonely room for the Petrified. What with her tendency to hang around the ghosts and the paintings, it made sense that she would come to a room full of Petrified students rather than interact with conscious ones. Again, that desperate urge Hermione has to understand this girl, to reach inside of her and pull out all of her secrets, to know, to have all of her questions answered - it overwhelms her, and she almost bursts right there into a cloud of questions. Why does she act the way she does? Why is she so lonely? Why is her smile so sad?

Hermione shakes her head. "No, I don't. Sorry." Her hand lifts, hesitantly landing atop Luna's. Her skin is warm and soft. "But thank you, Luna. Honest."

For the first time, there's a flicker of something other than calm in Luna's eyes. She looks up at the older girl, lips pressed together, head slightly bowed, and it's not weakness - that's not the right word, but it's a sliver of vulnerability that Luna willingly peels back and lets Hermione peek at. It's raw and it makes Hermione stare, the natural curiosity that has plagued her from birth reaching out with hungry hands and aching to hold on to this mystery with all of its strength.

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione turns. Dumbledore, kind eyes crinkled with a gentle smile, raises his hand slowly in her direction. He shuffles to her bed, purple robes gliding across the floor. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, sir, thank you."

"I assume you have a lot of questions?"

Hermione smiles knowingly. "You bet."

"Come with me. I'll explain everything." His eyes shift to the blonde at her side. "Good afternoon, Ms. Lovegood. Giving our bright Gryffindor here a warm welcome back to consciousness, hm?"

Hermione's eyes turn back to Luna to watch the younger girl brighten, giving a firm nod. "I'll be off now, sir. Hermione's still very confused about it all, and I don't want to confuse her further."

She slips from Hermione's side, humming softly as she rounds the bed and heads toward the door. Hermione feels like she should say something, shout another 'thank you' to the girl, but nothing seems right enough, nothing seems like the thing to do, so she simply sits there and watches the Ravenclaw leave. It's a very weird feeling for her, because she's not used to having to take a whole lot of time figuring things out. She's smart enough to do it pretty quickly, but Luna is a labyrinth and Hermione has no sense of direction when it comes to her.

"That girl is quite the enigma, isn't she?"

Hermione blinks. She's been staring. She tears her eyes fervently from Luna's back and locks them solidly with Dumbledore's. "Sorry?"

He chuckles, stroking his white beard with one hand while motioning her forward with the other. "Nevermind. Come along, we've got a lot to clear up."

/

"The train's about to leave!"

Ron's shoulder slams into Hermione's back, knocking her off center. She swings an arm out to smack him, but the redhead is already laughing his way up the train steps. Hermione grumbles, and if she were a crude kind of girl she might have swore at him, but she bites her tongue to silence it. She was still angry for getting herself Petrified - she wasn't about to turn into some kind of cursing delinquent while she was at it.

The train gives a high pitched squeal as they pull away from Hogwarts. Harry is plastered to the window, a frown on his lips, watching through the circular rims of his glasses as the school starts to disappear. Hermione knows how hard it is for Harry to go back to the Dursleys, to suffer through summer with no one to talk to but Hedwig. She pats his arm. He sighs, turning away from the window and slumping in his seat, picking at the fabric of his robes.

For an hour they sit together and Ron tells some horrid jokes that he thinks are positively hilarious. Hermione thumbs through one of her summer books, occasionally joining in on the conversation, but for the most part she lets the boys talk. She reaches for her knapsack, tugging it toward her to switch books, but when she throws open the clasp, she sees the corner of _The Quibbler_ poking out. Hermione hesitates, taking the magazine and slowly pulling it out. The cover is a great design of flashing letters, overexposed pictures of bug-eyed creatures blinking out at her. Hermione chews her lip, flipping through to the middle, and there is a long description about Warglebugs.

Hermione shuts the magazine. "I'll be right back," she says to the boys, who don't bother answering her as she slides into the hallway. Through the windows, fat green hills roll by, painted against the blue backdrop of the sky. The color reminds her oddly of a pair of eyes, but Hermione shakes that thought away - she isn't about to become poetic.

She ducks in a few doors, asking politely where she can find Luna Lovegood. Almost every time, she is met with a quizzical eyebrow and other strange looks, only to be told that they haven't a clue. At one point she sees Amos Drengar, snorting laughter with the same group of boys she had seen gathered around him all those months ago in the common room. Glaring at him through the glass, she trudges on, glancing quickly through the windows. A flash of blonde hair makes her stop, her heart thumping in victory, but it's not Luna. Draco Malfoy jerks his head up as if he knew she was going to be there, eyes as sharp as knives. Hermione's feet stick to the floor for just a moment in hesitation, but she's quick to catch herself, speeding past the Slytherin's cabin.

"Heard you got yourself Petrified, is that right?"

Hermione doesn't turn around. Again, the urge to swear at the boy peaks at her, but she's not about to lose her self control on top of everything else.

"So much for being a bright witch, eh, Granger?"

There's a chorus of laughter, which Hermione doesn't really understand because Draco's not even all that funny. Actually, he's not funny at all, and she can tell that the boys with him are only chuckling out of fear. She thinks it's sad, really, that Draco has to use intimidation to get his friends to stay by him, to have anyone to call friends at all.

He says something else to his friends that makes the lot of them crack up. She's sure it has something to do with the quality of her blood and how the creature should have rightfully killed her instead of just leaving her Petrified, but Hermione refuses to let that settle too deeply in her bones. She was not about to let another comment from an ignorant boy make her cry again. She blinks and there is a distinct burning sensation tingling her irises, and a tightness in her throat and - no, she yells mentally. She has cried enough this year to last her a lifetime. She is a Gryffindor and she is not going to cry like a baby.

Finally, Hermione finds the blonde she's looking for. She's in a cabin by herself, head against the window, eyes closed. Hermione lingers in the threshold of the cabin, watching the girl doze softly, the silent rise and fall of her chest the only indication that the pale girl is even alive. Hermione considers leaving, not wanting to wake her, but going back means running into Draco again, and probably having to explain to Harry and Ron where she went off to, if they had even noticed she had left. Hermione frowns. Why is it she suddenly feels embarrassed for being here? Maybe it's because all of their interactions up until now have been relatively private. She remembers what Ginny had told her about Luna being strange and not having many friends - she remembers Amos making fun of the girl and saying she was crazy. Luna is certainly different, no one can doubt that, but Hermione has never felt that the Ravenclaw was crazy. She just ... sees the world through drastically different eyes. It's intriguing, and her curious nature trumped over the part of her that was nervous about being seen with Luna.

"You can come in."

The soft, whispery voice makes Hermione jump. Luna's watching her with one eye open, a lingering smile on her lips.

"Er - sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was just, uhm, I just wanted, uh -" But Hermione doesn't know what she wanted. She just knew she wanted to see Luna before the summer started, to have a chance to ... say what? Hermione frowns at herself. She hadn't completely thought this through. She hadn't thought this through at all, really, and she doesn't like not knowing what to do next.

"Come on." Luna's hand flattens on the space beside her. Hermione shuffles to the girl's side, sitting slowly, watching the black tops of her shoes glide over each other.

They sit in silence for awhile. Hermione's not used to such quiet and it bothers her, makes her tense and nervous, like some kind of terrible foreboding is settling on them. But when she looks at Luna, she sees the girl is completely at ease, not the least bit effected by the void of silence between them.

Hermione is the first to break it. "Thanks again, Luna. For, you know, keeping me company and all. I really do appreciate it, even if I don't remember." Hermione wishes she does. She wishes she could have heard Luna reading to her, which is a very strange thing to want, but a desire all the same. She wishes she could have turned her head and seen Luna all curled up in that chair with a book in her lap and that distinct dreamy smile on her face because it would have been very beautiful.

The thought strikes Hermione cold. She freezes, eyes jumping from the floor to meet Luna's. The girl is already staring at her, smile broad.

"Not a problem." Luna beams at her.

Hermione's heart is pattering against her ribs. She needs to get out of here. She needs to leave. She doesn't like the curiosity that's gripping her anymore. This kind of mystery is one she doesn't want to solve because it scares her, the way it grips her and makes her want to stay, to lean forward, to study Luna's eyes until she understands them. Hermione swallows and nods, standing stiffly. "See you next year, Luna, have a great holiday."

She turns to leave, but something cold and soft slips into her hand. She jumps and it seems she's always in a state of surprise when she's around Luna, always on the brink of panicking. The blonde is smiling up at her again, her hand tightening around Hermione's and giving it a soft tug. Hermione swallows, turning to face Luna, and her cheeks are burning - _why_? She gives Luna a weak, trembling smile.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to like me."

The words catch Hermione off guard. She should really be used to that by now. She blinks, mouth dropping open. "I -"

"I know what people say about me. I'm loony and all." She laughs, but it's airy and weak. Her eyes drift to the one holding Hermione's. The smile, for once, dies away, replaced with a dip of a frown. "So, it's okay, you know, if you don't want to be friends. That's quite all right."

"Luna." A coil tightens in her chest. Hermione drops down to Luna's side again, meeting the blonde's blazing blue eyes. "I don't care what people say about you - _they're_ the mad ones, okay?" This undeniable urge to protect her makes Hermione's chest feel compressed. She takes a deep breath, the hand still holding Luna's giving a firm squeeze. "You're a nice girl and it's a shame no one else sees it."

Luna's smile returns. It's much more bold this time, not just dangling, but firmly taking hold. "At least you do. That's enough for me."

Hermione's lips can't help but tug upward.

She stays there for the remainder of the train ride.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _Hey there! This is my first Hermione/Luna fic. I promise this will turn into much more than this as soon as possible. I thought it was important to establish their friendship before I jumped into the romance. But it's coming, I swear. Also, I'm going to try and break this up by year. I started with Hermione's second year because that's Luna's first. _

_Comments? Questions? Reviews inspire me to update, so please leave one while you're here!_


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